A Big 'Ol Indian, and a Leather Jacket On My Back
by Faith Alana Alastair
Summary: Rizzo's had a couple of flings, but one stays true to her heart. It's not Kenickie.


TITLE: Big Ol' Indian, and a Leather Jacket On My Back

AUTHOR: Faith Alana Alastair

FANDOM: Grease, the movie.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Except the computer this was typed on.

PAIRING: Rizzo/OC

RATING: G

SUMMARY/PROMPT: Rizzo's had a couple of flings, but one stays true to her heart. It's not Kenickie.

SPOILERS: None. This is technically a couple of years post-canon, but it doesn't really spoil anything, unless you've never seen the movie.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Apparently when I used to write, I loved snapshot one-shot ficlets. Here's another one. Short but sweet.

FEEDBACK: Oh, please?

DISTRIBUTION: Want...Ask...Have

Rizzo trudged up the walk to the tiny apartment she shared with Frenchie. She hated it, but what could you do. Her date with Bobby sucked, ending with her walking home from the pizzeria, almost three miles. She barely nodded to the former treasurer of her now-disbanded high school gang, dropping her things near the door. Frenchie'd pick 'em up. She always did.

She opened the door to her bedroom, finding solace in her small space. With the money she made fixing greasers' bikes at the shop, Riz had bought herself some nice things, soft sheets and pillowcases, record albums whose jackets she hung on the wall - all things she wished she'd had as a teenager.

She flopped on her bed, and sighed. She didn't know what she was going to do about the dating situation, but the drought had better clear up fast, or she was going to pounce Frenchie. She chuckled inside, the thought having crossed her mind before, but she dismissed it. She'd known French too long to even think about going down that road. She mentally shrugged and turned over, a small black and white picture sitting in a gold frame on her nightstand staring at her.

She sighed, remembering Donna. She'd met the girl just out of high school, after Kenickie had broken her heart for the last time. Donna reminded her of Sandy, after they'd made her over. Beautiful, feminine and all leather, her lace hiding underneath. Rizzo could relate. She smiled, remembering, then frowned all of a sudden. She turned over again, her back to the memory.

"You okay, Riz?" Frenchie asked from the doorway. She'd seen Rizzo walk down Donna's particular memory lane before, and she worried about her friend and former leader. She walked in and sat on the bed, carrying a small basket of curlers, which she began winding into her hair. "I worry about ya."

Rizzo sighed again, and watched Frenchie put her hair over the tubes, and spoke. "I guess I will be, French. I just ain't had any in almost six months. Something's gotta give, y'know?"

Frenchie nodded. She wouldn't mind helping Rizzo out in that department, but she knew the friendship was just too fragile for that. Rizzo was too fragile. Frenchie couldn't give her anything more than a night, maybe two, and Rizzo needed more. "Date with Bobby didn't go so well, huh?" Frenchie's mouth quirked in sad understanding.

"Guy's a drip. A real tall drink of water. I dunno what I saw in him to begin with." Rizzo sighed, turning her head towards the picture again. "Nah, strike that. I know what I saw. I saw a big ol' Indian, and a leather jacket on my back again."

Frenchie nodded, picking up another curler. "You miss her, don'tcha, Riz?" Frenchie knew quite well Rizzo missed Donna, but her knack was always for stating the obvious.

"You know I do, French." Rizzo stated simply. "But she's gone, and she ain't comin' back." Rizzo sighed, remembering. "She went off and married some guy, and who knows where she is now?" she asked.

As if in answer to her question, The doorbell rang. Frenchie looked at Rizzo with her perfected confused face, and stood, walking to the door, one hand over the half-rolled curler in her hair. "Who do you think it is, Riz?" She hurried over and peered out the tiny hole in the door. "I don't see nobody."

Riz came up behind her. "French, lemme see." She too, saw nothing. "It's probably just those stupid boys down the…" She trailed off, swinging the door wide, to reveal a tall woman, with long brown hair, carrying a leather jacket over her shoulder. "Heya, Betty."

Rizzo's jaw dropped open, and she turned slowly, her eyes wide. "Donna? What the hell are you doing here, you creep?!" Rizzo asked, her voice raising. "I thought you married some guy and moved to Michigan!"

Donna chuckled, and ignored her unwelcoming response. "Aren't you gonna invite me in?" She stepped past Rizzo, and stood in the tiny foyer, smiling. "Larry was a lunkhead, Riz. I didn't have a choice but to marry him, and you knew it." She leaned over, and kissed Rizzo's cheek.

Rizzo stood there, allowing her hand to fall from the doorknob as Frenchie hunched down to walk between the two women, and closed the door. She blushed a little when Donna kissed her, and grinned goofily. "Aw, what'd ya have to go and do a thing like that for? Now I gotta forgive ya." She smiled, and ran her hand down Donna's arm, and over the leather. "So what happened to Larry?"

Donna sighed. "Got himself killed. One of the trucks at the plant ran him over. Didn't see him and - SMASH! - he's hamburger. Soon as I heard, I packed. I spent the last six months finding you. Kenickie sends his regards." She snorted as she said the last.

Rizzo spat. "Kenickie can rot." She softened then. "I'm sorry to hear about Larry." It was as close to an 'I missed you' as Donna would get. But somehow, it sounded like those exact words to her.

Donna looked around suddenly. "So, how've you been doing, kid?" The words sounded like 'I hope I'm not too late' to Rizzo's ears.

Suddenly, Rizzo leaned forward, stretching up on no-longer-tired feet, to kiss Donna, and the jacket dropped to the floor. Frenchie smiled as she hung it on the coat rack, and yawned loudly. "I'm goin' to bed, Riz. Night, Don." She retrieved her curlers, and shut her own bedroom door.

Riz simply smiled, it actually reaching her eyes, and pulled Donna in the direction of her bedroom. "You look good." Three little words, but yet, three entirely different ones. It looked like the drought was over.


End file.
